Ten years ago, I walked into the Lawrence, Kansas SPCA shelter, looking for a buddy to keep me company during grad school. I asked my volunteer guide to bring out a manx I’d seen on their website.
She nodded, went to a back room, and returned to deposit a cat in my arms that was about as un-manx-like as a cat could be.
I held the purring, six-pound, six-year-old cat and tried to explain that she wasn’t what I wanted.
After my futile attempts to demonstrate what I didn’t like about this cat’s long tail, small stature, and undesirable maturity, the volunteer just shrugged and said “I think this is the cat you’re taking home.”
That volunteer knew what I wanted better than I did, and understood that personality is much more important than breed (and probably knew me for a sucker who would give a more senior cat a chance).
I took my new pal home the next day, renamed her Petra, and she’s now been with me for ten years!
She runs to the door to greet me when I come home, she sits on command, and she is a pro-level snuggler.
If she hadn’t tried to steal a cookie from me while I was writing this glowing prose, I’d say she was perfect.
She’s still pretty darn close.
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